


Undone

by loknnica



Category: Naruto
Genre: Blank Period, F/M, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Post War, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21803299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loknnica/pseuds/loknnica
Summary: First encounter between Shikamaru and Temari after the Great war.
Relationships: Nara Shikamaru & Temari, Nara Shikamaru/Temari
Comments: 29
Kudos: 145





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sylversmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylversmith/gifts).



> This is my first ever published work, writen for ShikaTemaShrine's Secret Santa event on Discord.  
> I got assigned to make a gift for Steph a.k.a. Sylversmith, who is not only my friend, but has also supported my artistic endeavors ever since the beginning! One of my first ever commissioners, and also a sponsor for the biggest contest I hosted on dA around a decade ago. Thank you for being awesome!
> 
> Marry Christmas from your Secret Santa.

**__**

****

The dust has settled, but the air still smelled like blood.

Wherever she looked, all she could see were worn out, injured shinobi of all the Great Nations. And even though she could hear them all conversing, a serene silence remained in the air; which, she had to admit, was much better than the deafening one that reigned only moments before the war had started.

By all logic, she should be happy. She survived, with only a couple of bandages wrapped around her hands to help heal the blisters that her iron fan was so kind to leave her with as a parting gift. More so, her brothers were both undeniably fine.

She should be happy. _Relieved_.

And she would be very much so, had it not been for only one terrifying thought that kept crawling back into her head, despite all her best efforts to push it away. Surely, it was just sheer paranoia. He _couldn’t_ have died. It was absolutely unacceptable. He wasn’t on the casualties list that they’ve compiled so far, but he also wasn’t at the mandatory checkup tent for all the high-profile shinobi: the kages, and other war officiants.

With unease in her chest, she pushed through the crowd of people, making her way to one of the other five medical tents, the last one she hadn’t yet cleared. People were waiting in front for their turns, and she ignored the dirty looks they gave her for cutting the line and storming inside like a hurricane.

A familiar figure was sitting on a chair next to a medic nin, both startled at her sudden burst-in.

His hair was a mess. He was bruised and there were traces of dried blood on his jawline, but he was there. Alive. A world of weight fell off her chest. Finally, she felt like she could breathe again.

“Temari?” Shikamaru called her name, and she realized that she had started to space out. The exhaustion was slowly taking toll. “Are you ok? Are you hurt?”

He stood up and approached her swiftly, his hands almost instinctively cupping her face. She allowed him to inspect her.

“Why are you here?” she asked quietly. She noticed his face was a lot slimmer than it was before. The edges of his jaw looked sharper, and his eyes carried a dose of maturity that hadn’t been there before.

“I’m getting checked up. Did you hit your head?” he asked her with a concerned look on his face, enraging her, and yet at the same time managing to fill her heart with unfamiliar warmth. The feeling was both soothing and unsettling at the same time.

“I mean why aren’t you in the tent for the commanders, where you _should_ be, dumbass?” She slapped his hands away from her face, realizing that he’d been touching her cheeks for longer than acceptable.

“It’s a minor injury. I don’t want to waste the time of a highly skilled medic when there are people with more urgent conditions.”

“Pardon me for interrupting, but I need to see that wound you mentioned just now. There are other shinobi waiting,” the medic said as quietly as possible, as if afraid of Temari’s reaction. As any sane man should be, really.

“What wound?” Temari abruptly asked, and Shikamaru shot a stare at the medic.

“It’s nothing.”

“Shikamaru!”

“Damn it woman, it’s a small thing on my abdomen. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Sit down,” she demanded, pushing him backwards into a chair, then jabbing a finger at the medic. “ _You_ , leave us. I’ll handle this. Go check on the people waiting outside.”

The medic hesitated, up until she’d shot him her trademark death glare; he left the tent in a quiet hurry.

She sat on the wooden chair next to him, his eyes staring at her in apparent disbelief.

“Take off your vest and uniform,” she commanded, without so much as glancing at him, remaining focused on pouring alcohol on a piece cotton.

He obeyed without a word. She observed as his vest dropped from his shoulders to the floor, and his right arm reached over his head, grabbing the black uniform and pulling it up.

Temari felt warmth come over her face as he proceeded to remove the fishnet shirt, finally remaining completely shirtless in her presence.

There was a sudden twist in her lower abdomen. She found herself unable to look away, or even speak. His stomach was flat, and his muscles subtle, but very noticeable. He always did have more of a lean look rather than a ripped one, so the shapely abs were definitely unexpected.

A little to the left from his bellybutton, there was a deep flesh cut that he’d called ‘a small thing,’ and just a little lower, she noticed, and was immediately captivated by, the ‘V’ shape of his lower abdomen. Nice and sharp.

“What is it?”

She twitched uncomfortably, realizing that her eyes were trailing _down_ and he probably noticed.

“This will leave a scar, Shikamaru,” she scolded, trying to sound as tough as she usually would, but somehow the harshness was gone, and her voice sounded soft like a feather, with just a trace of worry.

“I know.”

She could only muster the strength to shake her head and roll her eyes before she took a deep breath and gently placed the fingers of her left hand right next to the cut, feeling the firmness of his skin and abs in process. She leaned closer to his abdomen, and softly traced the cut with the piece of cotton a couple of times, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of his physique.

The scent of his skin didn’t make it any easier. Like an addict, she inhaled it thoroughly with every breath she took. And with every next breath, she craved it more and more. When exactly had he become so damned irresistible? And since when did his presence make her feel so feeble, so…small?

As she fought against the urge to straddle him right there and kiss him, or hit him for being a dumbass, the silence was broken by his husky voice.

“I’m glad you’re alive.”

Temari looked up at him and blinked. The sudden need to get closer to him, to embrace him, was overwhelming. She craved his touch, she _missed_ it. The accidental brush of his fingers on her knuckles and the feeling of his eyes on her when she was focusing on work. She physically missed it, and her body responded in the worst imaginable way. Her eyes filled with tears. She was never one to let emotions get the better of her, so why on earth was she suddenly so sentimental, so… _vulnerable_?

“Damn it, Shikamaru,” she cursed silently, blinking the tears away before he’d noticed, and refocusing on cleaning his wound. She knew that _he_ knew what she meant. There was no need to say it.

But she did anyway.

“I’m glad you’re alive, too.”

She pretended to be fixated on the work she was doing, but out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him smile. She threw away the cotton ball, and reached for a stitching kit.

“Can you first clean the one I have on the back?” he said uncertainly.

“You have one on the back _too_?” she asked, much louder than she anticipated, before storming up and behind his back to get a glimpse of a slash much wider than the one on his abdomen. “And you call this _minor_?!”

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I should kick your ass right now,” she threatened and grabbed her chair to position it behind his back and sat down. “I think I’ll stitch you up without the pain killers. That will teach you a lesson.”

She heard him laugh faintly and then wince at the touch of the alcohol-stained cotton ball. The wound was positioned high up on his back. She didn’t realize how much taller than her he was, until she noticed she couldn’t reach it properly with a gap between them. She positioned her chair up close, so close her legs practically spread around his hips where he fit perfectly. So close she wanted to just embrace him, maybe even rest her head on his back for a while.

After she’d finished disinfecting, she stood up to admire her work, only to notice the shape of his back. His broad, muscular back. And, as he couldn’t see her, she took a moment to fully appreciate it. The pounding sound in her chest grew louder and she felt tingles in the lowest part of her stomach.

Suddenly, very aware of the wetness between her legs, Temari blushed. She could feel the blood in her veins boiling. Shaking off the urge to slide her fingers down his back, she grabbed the stitching kit, and pulled out a needle and a thread.

“You should bite onto something.”

 _Like my neck_. _Damn it_. _Pull yourself together girl._

She is Temari of Suna, and no man, especially not a crybaby like him, deserved her pining.

Except that her knees were already shaking and all she wanted to do was throw herself on him, leave scratch marks down his back, and surrender herself completely. Temari wondered how it would feel like to let him touch her skin and have him grab at her curves with ardent urgency. She wanted the imprints of his hand burned on her hips forever.

She was positive that he would put actual effort into having his way with her. Or it could have been just her own much too vivid imagination.

“Turn around,” she commanded as she finished stitching and he obeyed, coming face to face with her once again.

“That didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would,” he admitted. She squinted at him, internally debating if the comment was meant as insult or a compliment.

“How did you learn to do that?”

A compliment, then.

“Suna shinobi are trained from a very young age how to suture our own wounds. We don’t have many medics,” she explained while starting her needlework. “And the better you are, the less it hurt.”

“You do like being the best,” he teased. His smile made her own lips curve in response, finally loosening the tension from her face that she did not even realize was there.

“Damn right,” she grinned proudly, but remained obstinately focused on the task at hand.

She worked very fast, fearing the inappropriate thoughts that she kept pushing down and bottling up would thrive again. She was determined to have them tamed down. And she almost succeeded, right before she saw his hand reach up to her face.

His fingers went into her hair and lightly stroked a strand of it.

“You had a little something,” Shikamaru said as he threw away what she could only assume was a pinch of dirt.

Almost.

Her jaw stiffened again as she fought all of her impulses and resisted the desire to grind herself onto him. She also couldn’t ignore the fact that she was practically leaning into his lap anymore. Her own eyes betrayed her with a quick glance down to his crotch. Her chest started to heave with raw force.

“I’m done,” she sharply rose from the chair, and started to pack up the suturing kit.

“Thank you,” he rose slowly to his feet. All she could manage to do was nod quickly, without even sparing him so much as a single glance.

“Mhm,” she mumbled.

“Hey, look at me.”

It was a simple request, but his voice was so deep it felt like a command. One she couldn’t decline even if she wanted to. She turned around and faced him, and the next thing she knew, he was grabbing her hand and squeezing it lightly, satisfying her carnal need for physical contact only barely.

“I’m _really_ glad you’re alive.”

And there it was.

The hint of desperation in his voice, that she imagined just moments ago. The same kind of desperation she felt. It was there and it was _real_. She squeezed his hand back and smiled gently.

“You’d tell me if something was bothering you, right?” Shikamaru asked, staring so deeply into her eyes, she was certain he could see into her soul.

“Always,” she whispered softly.

Temari glanced at his chapped lips, that against all odds still seemed soft. She wanted to kiss him, more than she’d ever wanted to kiss anyone, and more than ever before. It hit her that she _had_ wanted to kiss him many times before today. But today, it was different. Today she couldn’t pretend that the necessity wasn’t there. Today she was desperate. And she hated it.

She wanted to press her lips against his, she wanted to lick the blood and sweat and dirt off his jawline, to tangle her fingers in his har and pull it hard, because she didn’t know how to express tender emotions in any other way but through violence.

The distance between them was staring to close, and her heart leapt to her throat.

A blinding streak of light hit her face unexpectedly, and they both jerked their heads towards the entrance of the tent.

“Temari-sama, your brother is requesting you.”

She let out a short, frustrated exhale.

_Now? Really?_

Temari moved away from him slowly, hesitating a little, wishing she could stay for just a minute longer. She sent one last glance his way. His eyes were fixated on hers, and she could see _something_ there. Something that she felt was always present, but never quite shown.

She should have embraced him when she had the chance.


	2. Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shikamaru's POV of the events that occurred in the tent.

**_Unspoken_ **

****

He was tired.

Tired of thinking, tired of fighting, tired of trying to fill the shoes of a great man and, by his own estimates, not doing a splendid job of it. All he really wanted to do was just go home, curl up in his bed and sleep for days. But here he was, sitting in a dirty tent, waiting to be stitched up; he was just about to take off his shirt when a certain blonde ran inside and disrupted his entire train of thought, much like she always does.

Ever since she walked into his life, she’s been nothing but trouble. She especially enjoyed pushing him out of his comfort zone and lighting a fire under his ass. He did not. He liked his life like he liked his women; ordinary. She was not.

Yet, he felt inexplicably happy at the sight of her. He found himself storming up at the sight of her unusually slim figure, daring to take a step further, closer, and invade her personal space. His hands flew to her face, his eyes inspected her features for a moment, looking at any sign of injury. She was tired, he could tell. Her eyelids seemed much too heavy, but the golden specks in the emerald color of her eyes were just as fiery as always.

So why was he so worried? Why did his heart ache at the thought that something might have been wrong?

The world seemed to have stopped spinning and all there was, was just her. In her brutal glory. And he would have kissed her had it not been for the medic. The medic who had made a mistake of mentioning his injuries, which prompted her to push him back into a chair and command him to bare his torso. He was in no state to argue with her. 

And because Shikamaru is an analyst, he picked up on the very subtle telltales. He noticed the small blush of her cheeks when he had removed his shirt. He noticed her whole body language change. The delicate mannerisms, that have suddenly become much too feminine compared to her usual style. 

Quite frankly, he wasn’t even sure if this was a reality or a dream. Hell, he might have still been stuck in that infinite Tsukuyomi, dreaming of her, because what else could he possibly want more than her? And her returning his feelings seemed so far out of his reach that it must have been a dream.

And the dream has also blessed him with a view of her cleavage, so refined, yet so enticing. He thanked the lord for the wound on his back, because he had to make his uninvited erection go away before she noticed it. He'd dreamed of her on more occasions than he cared to admit. He'd dreamed of running his fingers down the curves of her body. He'd dreamed of hearing her moan into his ear. He'd dreamed of even more.

As she was stitching up his wounds, he made awkward small talk, trying to distract himself from thinking what he was about to think, but to no avail. The thought was persistent and real, and he knew that he was fucked forever, because he wanted her and loved her more than any man should ever be allowed to love a woman.

His voice betrayed him at last, and he saw it in her eyes that she heard the unspoken words that stayed on his lips. On the tip of his tongue. 

_I love you._

_I want you._

She knew. He knew. They’ve been staring into each other’s soul, seeing a reflection of their own desires. 

Alas, he was too slow to act and she left him there, standing like a fool, wishing he had had the guts to do what was long overdue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to do a very short version from Shikamaru's pov. Hope you like it!

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was "Temari seeing Shikamaru with his shirt off for the first time and feeling waaaay more affected than she thought..."
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading!  
> And if you'd like to join our ShikaTema Discord server, feel free to PM me ^^


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